


Waking Up In Vegas

by jackiessalsa



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiessalsa/pseuds/jackiessalsa
Summary: Both estranged from their former partners, Waverly and Nicole take separate vacations to Las Vegas.  After a night spent together, they part for good.  But when it comes to the person one is supposed to be with, it doesn't always work that way.





	1. Chapter 1

Low lights plague the room, save for the bright neon that creeps up from the bar counter. Individual screens project every virtual card games known to man, and patrons robotically place their bets and tap, tap, tap away at the screens. From their respective corner perches, speakers don’t give much in the way of lightening the already dim mood. A stale trickle of smoke sets in like a heavy fog.

  
Waverly finishes her glass of rose and immediately signals for another. So _this_ is what a night out for adults feels like. Elegant clothes, delicious food, stiff drinks. There is no Xbox to envy; no “just one more level”. It’s the last night of her faux honeymoon and Waverly is just now allowing herself the luxury of such realizations.

  
Champ hasn’t called in two days, which means he’s obviously over the split. Right? Guy gets dumped days before his wedding and recovers in less than a week? That sounds plausible. And then there’s Waverly, all alone on her last night of rest and relaxation. Sulking as though _she_ was the dumpee rather than the dumper.  
We’ll chalk this one up to retributive reprieve.

  
Waverly sighs and places her second glass on the countertop, careful as not to let the weight of her recent circumstances crush the stem. The bartender has a replacement in seconds. The turnaround is a little too quick, and Waverly has to flash him a look.

  
He shrugs and leans in toward her ear. “Pity ain’t pretty, hon. So you need to sit up straight, pretend that you’re having the time of your life, and let that redhead buy you a drink.”

  
“Redhead?”

  
“Incoming,” he mutters. “Five o’clock.”

  
Waverly swivels on a dime. But instead of locking eyes with some potential suitor, she’s face-planted into the back of some hulking guy and wearing approximately eight dollars’ worth of decent booze.

  
“I didn’t know this place had a wet t-shirt contest.”

  
She’s soaked to the bone and highly embarrassed. In public. In a place highly foreign to anything she’s known. “Now’s really not the best time for jokes.”

  
“Can I at least help you with that?”

  
Waverly sighs and nods, and then she’s being coaxed ever so gently from her seat. The girl in front has her by the wrist. She leads defiantly across the bar floor and into the bathroom. When they’re safely tucked away from the world, she hands Waverly a wadded-up t-shirt from her purse. Only at this point does Waverly even bother looking up. The redhead.

  
They stand side-by-side in front of the mirror. “Just married, huh?” Waverly stretches the material in front of her, gawking at the tackiest t-shirt she’s ever laid eyes on.  
“Right,” the girl says. She extends a hand. “Name’s Nicole. I’m the dumbass that gets drunk, married, and divorced all in the same twenty-four hours.”

  
“Just like that, huh?” Waverly entertains.

  
“Yep. And all I ended up with was that stupid t-shirt.”

  
They both giggle at the last statement. “Well, what do I owe you for this stupid t-shirt? It’s actually a lifesaver for me right now.”

  
Nicole bites her lip, pretending to consider the idea. “Well, since I _did_ practically save your life, I’ll happily take what any single woman wants at ten o’clock on a Vegas night.”

  
Waverly tenses, ready to go on the defensive. She’ll have to let her down gently. Because it’s not like there’s anything wrong with hooking up with strangers, and there’s definitely nothing _wrong_ with hooking up with strangers of the same sex, but it’s not exactly like Waverly’s ever considered herself—

  
“Dinner,” Nicole says, swinging her purse over her shoulder

.  
“Dinner?”

  
The taller girl smiles and grabs Waverly by her wrist. “Of course I want dinner,” she says, pushing through the door. “What else would I have said?”

* * *

 

They tear up the strip all evening. The first stop is an all-you-can-eat buffet of Nicole’s choosing—one with enough vanilla-dipped donuts to sink a ship. The redhead watches in amazement as Waverly inhales not one, not two, but seven of the treats. She wonders how such a petite frame can stand it. She decides to be more enamored than disgusted.

  
“Where to next?” Nicole asks.

  
Waverly’s been sticking to her itinerary pretty strictly for the past six days. Vegas is awash with things to do outside of drinking and gambling, and it’s been good to her. Nicole peeks over the shorter girl’s shoulder. It’s nice to have found a friend in such a faraway place, especially one who supports visiting the odd spots of their destination. Unfortunately for Waverly, there really isn’t much time left to see or do anything. Not when she has an early plane to catch.

  
“I was hoping to see the national park,” Waverly discerns, clearly disappointed. “And I’ve already seen the hotel that so boldly pretends to be a pyramid.”

  
Nicole laughs. She scans the area for a moment, and her eyes decide on a destination. “How about that bench?” Her finger gestures across the street. “It’s actually a historical landmark, so I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what it has to offer.”

  
“And what that might be?”

  
Her breath trickles along the backside of Waverly’s neck. “Well, if you sit on that bench, chances are that a stunning redhead will probably sit next to you. And she’ll probably mention how she spotted you in the bar, and she might even ask how a girl of your caliber could’ve _ever_ been alone on a night like tonight.”

  
Waverly smiles and gives a nod. “I could be okay with that.”

  
And so they sit. For the better part of an hour, they sit in silence, soaking in the bright lights. Nicole mentions that she’s from a small town, that they don’t have any city streets anywhere close to resembling this. Waverly asks where she’s from, because the smaller of two comes from a much similar situation, and maybe she knows exactly where Nicole’s talking about. The redhead dismisses that notion, because nobody in the history of ever has heard of where she’s from.

  
They fall silent again. “So about how a girl of my caliber could’ve ever been alone on a night like tonight,” Waverly breathes. She’s playing with her hands.

  
“As an officer of the law, I actually must dissuade you from ever revealing that kind of information to strangers,” Nicole sternly mentions. “I could be a murderer. Even if we did pig out together.”

  
“But earlier? You said?” Nicole cracks a smile and Waverly elbows her in the side. “I’m serious. I need to tell someone or I’m afraid I might explode.”  
Gently, Nicole nods, giving her the go-ahead.

  
Waverly takes a deep breath. “Thank you. Now, it all began around the time I caught my sister attempting to hook up with my boyfriend. Crazy, right? But then, it turned out that she wasn’t even in to Champ—she just needed him to point her in the direction of my then dead uncle. And God, it was so crazy to see her after so many years, but I naturally had to let her stay on the Homestead because where else would she go? I mean, family is family, right?”

  
Crickets. Nicole’s entirely speechless, and that somehow doesn’t affect Waverly in the slightest.

  
“Anyway. So I start working with my sister, and there’s so much crazy stuff going on that needs my attention. It’s like, I just had this epiphany. There was this boy who I thought I actually gave a damn about; who I _actually_ thought gave a damn about me!” She over exaggerates a few blinks. “But he was just a boy. Man? A boy-man?”

  
“A boy-man,” Nicole repeats. “Yep, I’ve been with one of those.”

  
“It’s the worst,” Waverly grumbles.

  
She leans over into the girl next to her, swaying just enough to touch her, but not become fully settled. The taller warms to the idea quickly, and she playfully wraps her free arm around the pair of shoulders to her left. She rests her cheek atop the girl’s head.  “I’m sorry that your marriage crumbled before it started.”

  
Waverly sighs. “I’m sorry that yours ended about the same.”

  
“It’s only fitting. If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any.”

  
The crowds have trickled out gradually, and there are but a few people left wandering the streets. Drunks, mostly. People who have either cut their losses altogether, or they were far too enticed by the notion of free, limitless alcohol. Waverly notices how Nicole tenses when these people dance too closely to their spot. There’s a hitch in breath at first, a rapid skip in her heartbeat. Seconds later, they fall back into the same rhythm. Waverly recognizes the feeling. It’s the most sincere form of comfort and security, even if shared amongst strangers. It’s the human condition—the need to feel and be felt.

  
She’d felt this way with Champ before. Once or twice, that is. The first time was on their first date, when he was so young and full of wonderment. When he was the most interesting person on Earth. And the second was the night he proposed—when Waverly thought he might have finally cleaned up his act.

  
“I have an idea,” she says. “I know somewhere where we can see the lights just as well. Somewhere not out in the open.”

  
“Oh yeah?” Nicole entertains. “Because you know I can’t go sneaking around on rooftops and all. Still a cop.”

  
“ _Still_? Christ, I thought you would’ve been over that by now.” Waverly snickers and bites her lip. She even dares to poke her tongue out. “Just trust me.”  
This time, she’s the one grabbing Nicole by the wrist.

* * *

 

The elevator attendant asks what floor. Waverly mentions 29, the Honeymoon Suite. The attendant, old as he may be, smiles broadly. “Congratulations, ladies. Cute couple, you two.”

  
“Oh, we’re not—”

  
“We’d have to break up tomorrow, anyway,” Nicole interjects without much emotion. “Thanks for the ride.”

  
_Ding_.

Waverly’s stomach is knotted up tightly. She feels the static creep up her spine. She didn’t mean to be so eager in dismissing an honest mistake. She definitely doesn’t want it to seem hurtful in any way toward Nicole. After all, tonight’s just been so damn amazing. One of the first truly memorable nights she’s experienced in a very long time.

  
Her heart rate speeds up with every step they take toward the door. She feels Nicole trailing close behind; so close that when Waverly reaches for the keycard in her back pocket, she accidentally knocks square into the girl. But instead of progressing forward as one might, Waverly feels a gentle tug at her elbow. She’s turned on a heel, and her eyes are met from above.

  
“I know I’m the dumbass that got married in Vegas, but it was also to the woman I’d been dating for two years, you know. I’m not usually the type who does just anything.”

  
Waverly’s eyes lower, embarrassed. “I wasn’t assuming.”

  
“I don’t want to ruin a perfectly good situation,” Nicole huffs, eyes now lowly. “Tonight’s been great, Waverly. And I’m sorry that we can’t have many more just like it. So you have to tell me where this starts and where this ends.”

  
“This isn—” Waverly tries. She squints hard. Hard enough to phase out the seriousness in Nicole’s tone. “Have you—” Now, she takes a resounding breath. “Have you ever met someone and instantly knew that they met something to you?”

  
Nicole cracks a smile. “I might can get that, yeah.”

  
“Then that’s what this is,” the shorter girl says defiantly.

  
A soft click sounds from the door Waverly’s been pressed against. She falls gently into it, reaching out for Nicole to steady her. The redhead leans forward in almost perfect synchrony. Her own hands weave around the small of Waverly’s back, and in a matter of milliseconds, both girls’ lips are pressed hard against the others.

  
Nicole’s hands fish at the hem of Waverly’s t-shirt, and she pauses for a moment, parting their mouths in search of a sign that she should continue. “Are you sure?” she asks. “Because if you’re not..”

  
Waverly buries her face into the girl’s chest. “Please,” she whispers. It sounds desperate, but she doesn’t know how else to communicate what she’s feeling. All she wants is to be touched. To feel something other than the weight of a shattered future. “ _Please_.”

  
Nicole forces both arms above the girl’s head and removes t-shirt and all in one seamless motion. She clamps down on Waverly’s hips, fingers digging into the exposed skin. She wants Waverly. _God_ , she does. In fact, the pure wanting is what gives Nicole the strength to cup just where Waverly’s thighs and ass meet and lift the girl into her arms.

Waverly dares not to mention that this is her first time with a woman. Instead, she allows the familiarity of Nicole to guide her every move. One second, she’s on her back, wriggling out of a pair of skinny jeans. The next, she’s straddling Nicole, sitting in her lap and placing fervent, heated kisses along the girl’s neck. Nicole tilts her neck, exposing for more area for Waverly to cover. When the brunette nibbles at her ear lobe, Nicole groans and grabs a fistful of her hair. Waverly barely whimpers as she’s pulled back. Their eyes meet, and she can see that Nicole isn’t trying to be hurtful. In fact, her look apologizes without need for words.

  
Each cracks a smile as Nicole snakes her free hand in between Waverly’s legs, pulls the girl back in a for a kiss, and slips two middle digits deep inside of her warmth.  
Waverly’s mouth remains open, wordless. Her hips wiggle and writhe against the redhead’s open palm. She’s opened up and so, _so fucking wet._ There’s some friction forming against the girl’s clit, but her struggled groans indicate that there isn’t enough. Nicole notices this and shifts her weight to turn the pair on her hip. Waverly crashes into the pillow, and Nicole buries yet another finger deep inside of her.

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” the girl lets out, wincing at the newest sensation. She wraps a leg around Nicole and buries both sets of nails into her back. “Slower,” she whispers. It’s quiet. Direct. “Deeper, Nicole.”

She has no idea where it comes from, but Nicole can’t stop herself from murmuring, “Say it again.”

  
Waverly intertwines her fingers around Nicole’s neck, leans her head forward, and breathes, “ _Fuck me, Nicole_.”

  
And she does as she’s told. A minute more of slower, deeper strides and the brunette’s breathing hitches. Waverly keeps one hand to Nicole’s neck and grabs her arm with the other. Her chest lifts up as her stomach tightens. Her walls tighten around Nicole, and a pool of wetness forms in the girl’s palm. Waverly finally exhales and collapses against the mattress.

  
“That was fun,” Waverly jokes. She wipes a thin line of sweat from her forehead.

  
Nicole crashes down next to her. She pulls Waverly close, placing chaste kisses along the girl’s shoulder. “It usually is.”

  
They lay in silence for an eternity. Their breathing steadies, and when one dances too closely on the edge of sleep, the other chimes in with a question. This goes on into the night. Nicole learns of the Earp family, and how they have a notorious record in their hometown.

  
“Your sister must really hate cops,” Nicole says.

  
“Wynonna was institutionalized at fourteen,” Waverly further explains. “Higher authorities put her away, actually, but the local PD arranged the meeting.”  
“I could see that messing a person up.”

  
“ _Royally_ ,” Waverly says. “God, if she ever knew I schtupped a cop. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  
Nicole snorts. “Technically, the cop schtupped you. But if you’d like to settle your own score, I’m all about helping make you an honest woman.”

* * *

 

Waverly yawns as she checks the time. Her phone reads **6:04**. Ugh. The plane leaves in two hours. She really should’ve woken up earlier, but they’d only just gone to bed two hours ago. Nicole’s the lucky one, she thinks. Getting to sleep so soundlessly into the morning. Waverly listens to the girl’s breathing. She watches the way her chest rises and falls, rises and falls. It did the same last night, too, but the sounds that accompanied each breath weren’t as delicate. That doesn’t mean they weren’t heavenly, though.

  
She leaves a note on the bedside table. “ _Until next time_ ” is all that comes to mind. She wishes she could say so much more, but she knows that she can’t. Hopefully Nicole will understand.

  
Everything’s much busier outside of their temporary haven. The taxi, terminal, the flight. Wynonna meets Waverly with open arms, and even she’s a chatterbox. Busy, busy, busy. Waverly can’t help but think of how time came to a halt last night with Nicole. Of how nice it felt to have everything just stand still for one second.

  
“So?” Wynonna beckons, breaking her younger sister’s internal silence. “Anything to report on? Anyone?”

  
“No, Wynonna.”

  
The car jolts to a halt. “Don’t you lie to me, babygirl.” Wynonna fishes a flask from her inner pocket. “You and I both know the best way to get over someone.”

  
“Sleep with their brother?”

  
Wynonna snorts. She then leans over and places a kiss to Waverly’s forehead. “It’s sure been a long ten days, babygirl. Good to have you back.”

  
It’s another week before Waverly returns to Shorty’s bar, and everyone’s eyes shift directly to her as she enters. Hell, one patron even lifts the bar door open for her. She takes to the tap, pouring drafts for every occupied stool. Wynonna taps on the bar, and her little sister obliges with two whiskeys, both straight.

  
A gentleman saunters up to the bar and removes his hat. It’s a regular Stetson, issued by the county. He sets it on the countertop before a smile creeps from beneath his mustache. “Pleasure to see your smiling face back behind this bar. I was starting to believe that Henry would become the permanent fixture.”

  
“Nedley,” Waverly says. “I could never leave Shorty’s. Or Purgatory, for that matter.”

  
“That makes one of us,” the sheriff responds, lifting his glass in a toasting fashion. “I’m not sure if your sister’s told you, but—”

  
“I know,” Waverly interrupts. “You retiring doesn’t make much sense, but if it’s what’s best for you.”

  
Nedley eyes show relief. “I’m tired, Waverly. Have been for a long time. I’m leaving this town in good hands, though. That much I’m sure of.”

  
“Who could ever replace you, Nedley?” Wynonna shouts from across the bar. True to the Earp name, she stumbles up to their pair, sloshing top-shelf whiskey all over the place. “Never have been a fan of you khaki ass cops, Randy. But you, I was just starting to like.”

  
“Save the dramatics,” he dismisses. 

  
“I happen to welcome the change,” Waverly encourages, eliciting a nod of approval from Nedley.

“Thank you, Waverly,” he says. “And I trust you’ll make her feel welcome in Purgatory.”

  
“ _Her_?” Wynonna says. “There’s only room for one crazy chick with a gun, and it’s me. So no. Just no. Purgatory isn’t big enough. No, Nedley, you go tell _her_ —”

  
“Tell her just what, exactly?”

  
Most of the bar falls silent about this time. Their eyes trail toward the entrance, where a slim figure leans against the doorframe.

  
A lump forms in Waverly’s throat. Her heart feels on the verge of beating out of her chest. Surely, it can’t be. No, her eyes are playing tricks on her. Because if Waverly isn’t hallucinating, she’ll have to accept the fact of the girl staring smugly from across the bar. That the recognizable girl is fully clad in navy blue, and that she dons the Purgatory crest on her sleeve.

Nicole is Purgatory's new sheriff?

  
Wynonna very visibly rolls her eyes and very audibly groans. “ _Nothing_ ,” she calls out, and then flitters her fingers as to say “hello”. The eldest Earp leans into her sister’s ear and mumbles, “Fuck the police.”

  
“Yeah,” Waverly nervously agrees. “You can say that again.”


	2. Chapter 2

                Waverly feels Nicole’s gaze and freezes.  Her eyes scan for the closest exit; anything that will get her out of this room right now.  She darts for the storage closet.  Just outside, Nedley begins making  introductions.  First to Wynonna, who’s already less than enthused; second to Doc, who responds in his own genteel manner.  Waverly’s ear is pressed hard to the door until Nedley mentions her name.  “Now where is Waverly?  Swear I just saw her.”

                Someone chimes in.  It’s Doc.  “I think she stepped right back— ” 

                There’s a jiggle on the handle, but all efforts are interrupted by a shove at the door.  Waverly spots the imprint of a palm against the stained glass.  “Baby girl doesn’t want to talk to the bad lady, baby girl doesn’t have to,” Wynonna says.

                “Please move,” Nicole says, sounding annoyed. 

                “No can do.”

                Nicole attempts a step forward, but Wynonna extends another hand, this time to the officer’s shoulder.  Like a flash in the pan, the sheriff grabs Wynonna by the crook of her thumb and forefinger and pushes down on the wrist.  It’s an old pressure point Nicole learned at the academy, and the eldest Earp crumbles like all others have underneath its force.  From the other side of the door, Waverly hears a struggled “Fuck, shit, _UNCLE_.”

                The closet door finally swings open, and Waverly pretends to scale the racks of various cleaning supplies.  She settles for a blue squirt bottle before turning an about-face.  Wynonna’s shaking her hand furiously as she mutters, “You made an enemy on this Friday.”

                “It’s Tuesday,” Nicole dismisses.  Her attention shifts to Waverly, who finally steps out into the open bar.  “I had no idea you— ”

                “You must be Purgatory’s newest addition.”

                “Waver—

                 Her eyes are fixated on Nicole as Waverly extends a hand.  “Pleasure to meet you, Officer.”

                 The redhead cocks an eye and briefly nods.  “Pleasure’s all mine.”

                 The silence thickens and Wynonna swoops to her sister’s side.  She wraps an arm around Waverly and leans into her ear.  “Ten bucks says she doesn’t make it to Christmas.” 

                 The statement is intentionally louder than a whisper, and it elicits an eye roll from Nicole.  “Randy, I think I’m gonna take off.  Poke around the station and set up shop.”  She then looks to the Earp sisters before saying, “Ladies.”

                 It feels rotten, but Waverly hopes that Nicole will understand.  She’d mentioned it briefly in Las Vegas, but Wynonna’s distaste for those in Nicole’s profession runs deep.  There’s a personal attachment to the trauma.  Waverly also believes the behavior has something to do with Nedley’s retirement and Wynonna’s devout, unprofessed love for him, but that’s neither here nor there.

                 The point is—Las Vegas was only ever supposed to be Las Vegas.  They were supposed to have an affair in a faraway place and never see each other again.  Now she and Nicole will be living in the same small town.  They’ll probably bump into each other at the grocery store.  She’ll undoubtedly pop into Shorty’s for a beer after work, and Waverly will eventually need Nicole to dismiss an unruly customer. 

                 Quite frankly, she can’t shake the idea of  _wanting_ all of those instances to occur.  

                 Waverly sighs.  She’s always known the Ghost River Triangle was full of ghosts, but she’s never believed it more than now.

* * *

 

                It’s a week before Waverly musters the courage for recourse. 

                The police station is vacant this time of night.  A single light shines from the building’s main office, and Waverly watches a shadow dance across the floor.  She pokes her head inside and knocks on the door.  “Burning the midnight oil?”

                Nicole drops the papers she was just poring over.  She accepts the drink, takes a sip from it, and looks back to her desk.  Waverly may as well not even be in the room.  It’s a familiar feeling from being a child in the Earp house.  It’s not Nicole’s job to know anything about Waverly’s past, and they’re certainly not dating, but no one enjoys being invisible. 

                This is probably the same way Nicole felt at Shorty’s.

                _Shit_.

                “I’m sorry about earlier,” Waverly says.  “Things are… _weird_ right now.  This visit was meant to be an olive branch.”

                Nicole takes another sip and shakes her head.  “That kind of kick in the ass costs way more than a coffee.”  She finally looks back up.  “I like club sandwiches, too.  No pickles.”

                The brunette sighs in relief.  “Got it,” she says, daring to emit a lighthearted giggle.

                A radio on the station counter begins buzzing with light chatter.  The sheriff scrambles to lower its volume.  She stops in front of Waverly and folds her arms.  “What are you doing here?”

                “I could ask you the same.”

                “New job,” Nicole quickly replies, waving her palms around as to show off the newest digs.  “Thought I mentioned that on vacation?”

                Waverly looks down, embarrassed.  “I wasn’t too focused on what you were saying that night.”  She bites her lip, unsure of how to explain how her emotions from them could possibly rationalize her behavior now.  Only one point translates across both.  “I never thought I’d see you again.”

                “And now?”

                Waverly tangles her fingers together, a habit also stemming from her childhood.  “It’s all I’ve thought about since you got to Purgatory.”

                There’s a shift in the room.  The energy is stoic yet busy.  Similar to two tugging on either end of a rope—no one moves, but both may as well be spinning their wheels. 

                Nicole sighs and rubs the back of her neck.  “You left me no phone number,” she says, clicking her tongue.  “Barely a note.  No way of reaching out.  And you’re here, asking if we can hook up again?”  She huffs, this time narrowing her eyes in at Waverly.  The moments pass slowly, every second one more that the girl stares through Waverly. 

                Alas, with a simple shrug, Nicole says, “I’ll be out of here by eleven.”

* * *

                Ever the punctual person, Waverly arrives at Nicole’s precisely two minutes before she does.  She’s waiting in the Jeep, breath fogging up the windows, when the patrol car pulls in.  Nicole doesn’t act surprised to see her already there.  Instead, she holds the door open for Waverly, who sheepishly leads them inside. 

                Nicole immediately begins unbuttoning her long sleeve.  Waverly’s taken aback by it, until she realizes that this is just part of the nightly routine.   The redhead clicks on lights throughout the house.  She pops into the kitchen, runs water into a kettle, and sets it on the stove.  Back in the living room, she unfastens her utility belt and hangs it on a hook by the front door.  There’s an orange cat perched on the edge of an arm chair, and she stops to give it a scratch between the eyes. 

                A faint whistle sounds from the kitchen, and Nicole disappears again.  She returns with a mug in each hand.  Waverly graciously accepts one, and Nicole sets hers down long enough to remove the uniform long sleeve altogether.  The brunette nearly chokes on her tea at the sight of Nicole in a tank top.  Sure, she saw a lot more in Vegas, but there’s something about what the simple garment leaves to the imagination.  Nicole finally sits down, leans over, and unlaces her boots.

                Waverly didn’t know she was a fan of police boots until now.

                It’s all too much to handle, and Waverly’s thankful that she grabbed Wynonna’s jacket before leaving the Homestead.  Firstly, so her older sister wouldn’t feel compelled to follow, and secondly, because there’s always whiskey in one of the pockets.  Grateful for her sister’s drunken consistency, the younger Earp fishes the flask out and dumps a substantial portion into her drink.

                Nicole is now staring, and Waverly shrugs.  “Standard Earp operating procedure.”

                “I think it’s fascinating,” the redhead gives, extending her mug for a share of the festivities.  She leans back, props her still-booted feet up, and closes her eyes.  “You really weren’t lying about your sister.  Chick clearly hates anybody with a pulse and a badge.”

                “The pulse is optional, I think,” Waverly jokes.  “But I’m working at it, and if I can’t distract her, I’ll find someone who can.”

                 Nicole peeks through tired eyes.  “You’d run interference for me?  That’s so sweet.”

                 Both girls laugh when Waverly reaches over to smack her.  They each take a swig.  “I just thought that maybe, if Wynonna was preoccupied…”

                 “We could sneak around on your cop-hating sister like a couple of high-schoolers?”

                 Waverly smirks.  “I might even know where to find my old cheerleading outfit.”

                 Nicole’s eyes spring open, and Waverly can’t tell if she’s suspiciously awake or just intrigued.  “You’re a character, Waverly Earp,” she coos before leaning over and grabbing the girl by the hand.  A second later, Waverly’s sitting in the redhead’s lap.  “I hope you don’t take offense to this, but is there any way we can be private with what goes on here?  I doubt anyone takes too kindly to the sheriff screwing the local sweetheart. ”

                 “I hope you don’t take offense to _this_ , but I’m in no hurry for them to find out, either. ”  Waverly flashes a toothy grin.  “We can be Purgatory’s best-kept secret.  Aside from Nedley’s gut, of course.”

                 They both chuckle.  And like that, Nicole gently palms the back of Waverly’s head and pulls her in close, pressing their lips together.  For half an hour, they sit in the chair, exploring what they can in the confined space.  Simple touches and chaste kisses that they weren’t allowed in the honeymoon suite. 

                 They eventually make it upstairs, and the following hours are devoted to all but sleep.  Nicole’s bedroom is much smaller their previously shared room.  Both girls survive their fair share of bumps and bruises with a smile, though.  And when either is too tired to take anymore, they lay, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about everything and nothing at all.

* * *

 

               Waverly wakes to the bedside alarm clock.  She climbs out of bed with a yawn, barely noticing that it’s five-thirty.  Scents of coffee waft from somewhere outside the room, and Waverly instinctively follows the trail.  Nicole’s leaned against a kitchen counter, shirt undone the same as last night—hanging loosely from her body.  She’s staring at the newspaper before her.

              “God, you’re so _old_ ,” Waverly says.  “Extremely hot, but _so old_.”

               The newspaper folds.  “It is my duty to not only know what goes on in this town, but to know what people _think_ is going on in this town.”

               “Fair point.”  She knows that the only thing crazier than what goes down in Purgatory is the stories its citizens conjure up. 

               Waverly pours herself a cup and opts to sit at the measly, two-chaired kitchen table.  The entire area is simply dressed, similar to that of a home showroom.  There are just enough pieces to give the impression of a kitchen, but not enough to look as though someone lives in the home.  All points could be attributed to Nicole’s horrendously early start times and grievously late nights.  There must be no time to decorate.

               They don’t spend much time together before Nicole’s rinsing her mug and tidying her uniform.  “You can see yourself out, obviously,” she says while tucking in her shirt.  “Please don’t forget to lock up.”

               “Sure.  Same time tonight?” Waverly asks all too eagerly.

                Nicole’s cellphone dings.  She frowns at it and begins furiously typing away.  “Dinner date.  Might have to raincheck.”  The girl is out the door before Waverly, very unused to rejection, can get another word in.

                The coffee pot also whirs back at the Homestead.  Doc’s probably up on account of he never went to sleep.  Waverly shuts the door quietly and hangs her jacket on the coatrack.  She lets out a yawn, and just as she turns to ascend up the stairs, Wynonna meets her at eye level.

                The eldest sister sips from her mug.  “Someone left awfully late last night.”  Waverly brushes past her, intent on returning straight to bed before her shift at Shorty’s.  “Care to explain?”

                Waverly stops and calls over her shoulder, “Not unless your name is Michelle Gibson.”

               “Low friggin’ blow,” Wynonna retorts.  “Is it Champ?”

               “Is what Champ, Wynonna?” 

                Wynonna’s voice is more direct this time.  “Whomever you’re sneaking out to go _see_.”

                Waverly turns on her heel.  Her grip on the stairs’ hand rail intensifies.  “I’m not sneaking out to see anyone, Wynonna.”

               “Is it someone from Shorty’s?”

               “It’s no one, Wynonna.”

               “Tell me it’s not that weird dude from the post office.”

               “No, it’s not Travis, Wynonna.”

                Wynonna squints her eyes and purses her lips.  “I’m onto you, Earp.”  She steps forward, grabs Waverly’s hand, and places a gentle kiss to it.  “I love you, but I’m onto you.  Now, can I steal my forever cryptic sister for dinner tonight?”

                Waverly’s ashamed to admit that she considers Nicole first, but remembers that they have no plans for the evening.  She nods, hoping that the simple gesture will excuse her to bed.  It clearly has no effect on Wynonna, who continues, “Great.  I’m thinking we can stay in and cook.  Since Doc has a date with Nedley’s Replacement, I figure we can finally do steaks without him eating everything.”

                “Wait, what did you say?”

                “Me, you, and a couple of ribeyes?”

                “Before that.”

                 Wynonna taps her chin.  “You. Head. Out of ass,” she chides.  “Doc’s going out with Officer Puke Pants.”

                 Any hopes of sleep are lost with that last bit of news.  Why would they, of all people, spend time with each other?  Whose idea was it?  So many questions reel in Waverly’s brain, and she’s determined to get some answers at work. 

                Later that evening, Doc is nowhere to be found.  It’s a weird fact because he’s never absent on inventory day.  She calls Wynonna to see if he’s around her, but she’s just as lost as to his whereabouts. 

               “You think everything’s okay?” Wynonna asks.

               “He’s not here on the one day devoted to tallying booze,” she says, “and how much is left for his consumption.  Does that sound like our Doc?”

               The distress on Wynonna’s end is apparent in the sound of her heavy breaths.  “Could he have gone on his date a little early?”

              “Maybe,” Waverly entertains, “but they’re nowhere in town.  I might have already called around.”

              The sisters decide to lay the issue to rest as well as they know how.  Wynonna meets Waverly at seven o’clock sharp, and they pile into the sisters’ shared red Jeep.  Both girls know standard protocol, but since the odds aren’t stacked and they _don’t_ foresee walking into an enemy-infested area, they decide to leave the shotgun behind. 

               It’s surprisingly difficult to find Nicole’s very obvious patrol car.  Mostly because they have no idea of its general location, and because when all you’ve got is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.  Waverly and Wynonna check at least three clubs on the outskirts of the Ghost River Triangle.  Three clubs, three different colored glitters.

               Finally, Wynonna spots the Purgatory emblem some thirty minutes out of town.  The parking lot is almost vacant, and the flashing neon lights briefly remind Waverly of Las Vegas.  It’s ironic, she thinks, but not nearly as comforting as when she realizes that they’ve arrived at _Pussy Willows_ , not the Bellagio.

              “Maybe they got kidnapped and the perp ditched the car here?” Waverly asks.

              Through gritted teeth, Wynonna says, “For Doc’s sake, he’d better hope that’s the case.”

               Lo and behold, Doc and Nicole are very much alive and sharing drinks in a remote corner booth.  A waitress in a skirt that barely comes to the bottom of her ass cheeks delivers another round of beers to the pair, and Waverly can’t help but notice the signature toothy grin Nicole flashes.  Neither Doc nor the redhead seems too unhappy in their current positions.

               Wynonna’s turmoil isn’t nearly as internal.  Smoke practically pours from her ears.  Waverly grabs her sister’s arm and urges, “Let’s go home.”

               Wynonna walks with purpose outside.  “Should’ve brought the shotgun,” she says when they climb into the Jeep. 

               “There’s probably a good explanation,” Waverly says, seemingly almost trying to convince herself.  “Doc’s from a different time, anyway.  He may not even see a strip joint as a problem.”

               Wynonna laughs.  “I’m talking about the one who dragged him there,” she seethes. 

               “Is she really the one to blame?”

               “As a feminist, no,” the eldest Earp grunts.  “But as baby mama, I’ll skin her alive next chance I get.”

               Waverly knows that this is about as good as it’s going to get.  She’s too tired to make any arguments, suggestions—anything but the drive home.  Waverly makes a mental note to lock away all firearms and sharp objects, regardless.  At least until the dust has settled.

* * *

 

               Doc takes a puff of his cigarette and scans the area.  “I must admit that when you invited me to an establishment of this caliber, I thought we might partake in other endeavors.”  His eyes wander, but they do not settle on any one subject.

                “A cop can’t exactly walk into a strip club alone without drawing the wrong kind of attention, Henry,” Nicole says.  She takes a swig from her beer.  “But I didn’t think the townspeople would appreciate me settling such private matters in the diner.  No, this is far less conspicuous.”

                It’s also subsequently the one place she wouldn’t risk accidentally bumping into Waverly, but she doesn’t admit that.  Instead, she signals a gentleman who’s just entered the building.  He’s clad in a suit, bald-headed, and wearing a style of glasses Nicole’s sure they no longer produce.  Definitely not your typical character for this scene.

                Nicole is also paying a premium on this impromptu “house” call, though, and is keen on making their time together as painless as possible. 

                The man clicks his briefcase and presents a single manila folder.  Nicole reviews its contents for a solid five minutes, only to look up with even more strained eyes.  “I don’t get it.  We were married for _seventy-two_ hours.”

                “That’s still legal juncture.  And her representation says they’re not settling for less than seventy-five percent,” the lawyer states.  He points to a particular section of the document.  “For what is described as ‘two years of wasted damn time’.”

                “Hell hath no fury,” Doc mumbles, tipping his hat.

                Nicole puts back the last half of her beer in a single gulp.  She drums her fingers on the edge of the table.  She even signals for another drink.  “And if I say no?”

                “Then we revert to Addendum 4,” their visitor states, reviewing the paper once more.  His lips purse.  “In that case, the defendant is pursuing seventy-five percent as well as an apology to her mother.  For what is described as—”

                “What are my chances of winning this fight?”

                The lawyer rubs a hand over his head, smoothing what hair there isn’t.  “Miniscule, at best.  She’s done a wonderful job of painting you in a very specific light.”  The man huffs, defeated.  “It’s bad enough that you skipped town, Nicole.  One misstep and you’d lose everything.”

                “Then I’ll be on my best behavior,” she snaps.  The redhead grabs her beer and promptly exits the conversation, to which Doc follows her across the bar.  They lean against what appears to be an unused portion of the stage.  An understandable point, considering the lack thereof a Tuesday night crowd.

                “I know it seems fucked up,” Nicole eventually explains, “but trust me when I say that my situation gets much, much worse than this.”  She buries her face in her hands.  “I only married the girl in a drunken tizzy.  We were together, yeah, but I wasn’t ready for forever.”

                “In my day, drunk and in a tizzy were the only ways a person could stomach getting hitched,” Doc says.

                The officer laughs.  “Does it ever get easier?”

                “Finding the right woman?  Never,” Doc explains, dragging on his cigarette.  “You just mind your own business until she stumbles into your life, whiskey-soaked and cussing.”

                “So whiskey-soaked and angry are the criterion for marriage?”

                “I know what you’re insinuating, Officer Haught, but getting Wynonna Earp down the aisle will be about as easy as convincing a yard dog to sit for a stranger,” Doc says with a chuckle.  “I’ll let you know if I ever find that dog.”

                Nicole laughs again.  It goes against her better judgement to divulge personal information with a plain-clothed citizen, but her gut doesn’t react to Doc like it does others.  Maybe it’s because his clothes aren’t all that plain, what with all the leather.  It could also be his stoic demeanor, one that screams either fiercely loyal or too lazy to speak.  Whatever the case, Nicole decides him to be a decent confidante.

                She sets her empty glass on the nearest table.  Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, Nicole asks, “Can you keep a secret, Henry?”

                Doc simply grins and flicks his hat.  “Better than you know.”  


End file.
